Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders in the High Sierras

“I know something else, too,” spoke up Stacy Brown.

“Well?” demanded Hippy, eyeing Stacy suspiciously.

“The log is chained down.”

“What log?” questioned Grace quickly.

“That log out in the lake,” Stacy informed them. “It’s funny that you folks haven’t noticed that it has been in the same position ever since we got here. There’s something queer about that log, too. I observed it the first time I walked along the shore, but it didn’t make much of an impression on me at the moment, and – ”

“I doubt if it would have done so if it had fallen on you,” interposed Emma.

“Thank you. One would hardly notice the log at all unless the lake were quite rough, which would enable you to see the full length of the log when it was in a trough. I examined the log when I was out in the canoe, and there’s something else about it that is queer.”

The Overlanders with one accord started for the shore to look at the log.

“It’s chained down,” shouted Stacy.

“I believe the boy is right,” exclaimed Elfreda Briggs.

“Where’s that dugout?” called Hippy.

“I reckon it has gone around the bend,” answered Emma.

“No. The wind is in the wrong direction,” answered Tom. “I see it! There it is, at the upper end. It has drifted sideways to the beach.”

“I am going to have a look at that log,” cried Hippy, starting at a run for the dugout. Tom and his companions followed.

“Stacy, get the paddle,” directed Tom.

The fat boy obeyed without protest, which was rather unusual for him.

“Me savvy plenty piecee fun,” chattered Woo as they ran.

“If I am a prophet, you will be savvying something besides fun before we have done with this affair,” observed Elfreda Briggs soberly. “This is only the beginning.”

Stacy arrived with the paddle about the time that Hippy and Tom reached the dugout. The two men turned the boat over and shoved it out.

“You girls remain on shore,” ordered Hippy. “The boat will not hold more and give us room to work. Stacy, you sit still. Don’t you dare rock the boat.”

The lake was still rough and Hippy found it hard work to handle the dugout, but after throwing off his coat and shifting his passengers to better balance the dugout, he made better headway, finally reaching the bobbing log.

“Stacy is right. The log is anchored,” exclaimed Tom. “What can that mean?”

“We are going to find out right smart, Captain,” answered Hippy. “Do you see? The thing is anchored with a chain about its middle, and from rings, bolted to the ends, ropes lead down into the lake. That must mean that something is at the other end of the ropes. Tom, you ballast the other end of the dugout while Stacy and I pull on the rope at this end. We will try not to upset you. For myself, I have had one ducking to-day and that is quite sufficient. Stacy has one coming to him. All right, Chunky, heave away.”

They hauled on the rope with all the strength they dared exert, for to pull with too strong a hand meant a ducking in the cold waters of the lake.

Something came slowly to the surface.

“Oh, fudge! It’s an anchor – it is a piece of iron,” grumbled Stacy.

“Yes, but it isn’t an anchor,” answered Hippy excitedly.

“Boys, you have pulled up an iron box. Can you get it aboard?” cried Tom.

On the box, in yellow letters, was the name of a well-known express company. The box was securely locked, and apparently the lock had not been tampered with.

“We’ve made a find!” cried Stacy.

“Loot of some sort,” agreed Tom. “That is a money chest, probably of the same sort that the Red Limited was carrying when the bandits attacked our train between Summit and Gardner. There is undoubtedly another one like it at my end of the log, but the question is what are we going to do with our find.”

“What are we going to do with it? Why, we’re going to open it, of course,” declared Stacy. “If there is loot in it, findin’s is keepin’s so far as Stacy Brown is concerned.”

Tom was of the opinion that they had no right to open the chest, but suggested that they take it and whatever else they might find, to a safe place and bury it, and then get word to the authorities.

“I believe you have the right thought,” nodded Hippy, after a moment’s reflection. “There can be no doubt that this is stolen property, not the least doubt in the world. Therefore we are not taking another man’s property – we are trying to save stolen property. Come, Stacy, let’s give it another haul, then try to lift it aboard.”

“If I don’t get any of the plunder, I don’t haul,” objected Chunky stubbornly.

“Pull! If you don’t I’ll throw you overboard,” threatened Hippy savagely.

“I’ll drop it if you do. I’ll – ”

A bullet snipped the water not a dozen yards from the dugout, followed by the report of a rifle.

“You’re under fire! Look out!” shouted the voice of Grace Harlowe, shrill and piercing.

“Let ’em shoot!” retorted Hippy. “Tom, are you game to go through with it?”

“Yes.”

“Bang, bang, bang!” Three bullets hit the water close at hand, sending up little spurts of white spray. Another bullet went through the top of Stacy Brown’s hat.

“Wow!” howled Chunky. “You can get shot if you want to, but I don’t.”

“Buck up!” urged Lieutenant Wingate. “We’ll have the thing aboard in a moment.”

Another bullet sang past them, clipping a sliver from the side of the dugout. The sliver hit Stacy on his bare arm and drew blood.

“I’m hit! Good-night!” yelled Stacy, suddenly letting go of the rope and diving head first into the lake.

As Stacy let go of the rope and took his dive, the iron chest splashed and went to the bottom, causing the canoe to turn turtle. Lieutenant Wingate and Captain Gray were hurled into the icy waters of the Aerial Lake head first, with bullets spattering in the water all about them.

CHAPTER XXIV

MAKING A LAST STAND

“You poor fish!” roared Hippy as he came up sputtering.